


In This Age

by orphan_account



Category: Xenosaga
Genre: AU, AU wherein everything is exactly the same except one little thing, Ableism, Disability, Equality, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:35:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things tend to move forward, but sometimes they move back. Pre-Game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In This Age

**Author's Note:**

> The type of AU featured here has pretty much every plot detail of the series exactly the same-- only one little detail is changed.

Gaignun always found himself returning to this place.

He walked with a limp—a characteristic few could boast these days. Nanomachines and assorted medical technologies had become far too advanced for little cuts and bruises like a ruined limb. Naturally, it had won him a lot of questions and stares in his profession. The public eye was constantly on a man of his stature, and every oddity about him was magnified as consequence.

He settled down at the bench with a glass balanced in his good hand and sighed. He’d gotten mighty good at that—moving short distances without the use of a cane. The fact that he could do it without spilling wine was all the more impressive.

People always asked him the same simple question: “why?” If you had a disability such as his, why not fix it? Monetary reasons were out of the question for him, and so few cases were deemed beyond all treatment that it was practically unreasonable to suggest that as well. So that left them with one more option—did he _like_ to be that way?  
The answer wasn’t so straightforward. Two of those common guesses were almost right—he was (nearly) beyond treatment, due to the time sustained between his wounds and his rescue, but prosthetics were still a plenty viable option. Or at least they were in theory.

Prosthetics frightened him. It was an outrageous fear to have—the risk factor in their application was nonexistent. A fair chunk of the population used them too—from cases as large as entire false limbs to ones as miniscule as eyesight correction—yet the thought of joining their numbers was unbearable.

To remove and replace a part would be to alter his existence. It would be to allow another to take away a literal piece of him and tamper with his inner workings—and in turn, open up a floodgate of long-buried flashbacks and the constant paranoia of again becoming a marionette for someone else’s amusement.

His life teetered on the brink of purpose and want. To let someone change his form—it might tilt the balance the wrong way, back into death.

Thus, he learned to cope.

He was lucky enough to only have the left side of his body affected. He could still write with ease, and his dominant leg still worked as well as any. So he limped, so he needed a cane. No problem. So his depth perception was shot to hell—not an issue either. He still had one eye to work with. He was a businessman, a politician—he didn’t need such things—Jr. handled all the roughhousing. That left only the stigma and incessant questioning to weigh him down.

“Master Gaignun?” Gaignun turned his good eye to the source of the sound—behind him a fair ways, past the shrubs, and a little upwards. “Are you—ah!" Having caught sight of her target, the patter of footsteps broke the silence of the garden as Mary trotted down the cobbled pathway to where he sat.

“You’re mighty good at slippin’ off like that!” She playfully punched him in the shoulder. He pretended to wince in pain at the blow, before they exchanged a silent smile and she sat herself down beside him.

“Did it all go well?”

“Mmmhm,” Mary had taken off her ridiculously-blue-hat to brush some leaves and burrs off it. “We found it _._ Not too much trouble this time either—for one, Little Master didn’t break anything!”  She chuckled. “So you won’t have to scold him for being reckless, yeah?”  
“No, no, I think I _always_ have to scold him…” Gaignun’s good-natured smile betrayed his words. Jr. would always cause trouble, but it was delightful trouble.

“Are you doing well? No political shit this time ‘round, I hope?”

His smile flattened to a much more reserved state as he heaved a small sigh. “Nothing too bad,” He scratched the back of his head, pulling at the thin straps behind his ear that held the bandage against his eye. It was a habit—one he wished he could kick, out of fear of how unprofessional it might look to some. He had been doing well too—but it was all too easy to slip back into old, casual, habits around the Godwin sisters.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” Mary had apparently stolen his telepathy. Damn. “It’s a drag, I know, but it draws a lot of attention to…” She tapered her sentence off, mouth twisting into a frustrated grimace. “Oh god, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, y’know…”

Gaignun drew his hand back from his ear and through his ever-well-trimmed mop of black hair. “No, no need to worry, I understand that it’s… different. Anyway, you’re absolutely right.”

Mary didn’t seem pleased: “I don’t care ‘bout that! It’s pretty stupid that it’s such a big deal anyway-- you think and speak as well as anyone, so who should really even care?” She huffed. “People are dumb, Master Gaignun.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” He shrugged. Mary was half-trying to distract him from her own words, and he knew it. Of course, she also knew that he could tell, leaving them at a perfect impasse. No matter—she hadn’t meant harm, and never would—why bother lingering? “They fear the unknown. Disability… it’s become an unknown in our age. Confusion is likely a natural reaction.” In all honesty, it had gotten better, if only slightly. His first days in the political sphere were tumultuous, to say the least. At the time, getting pestered with half-a-million questions of his ability and disability was the norm, and every second was a battle to prove himself. Nowadays, he only had to brush aside the occasional taunt or comment, and a couple of startlingly frail portrayals of himself and his abilities—small matters, compared to those initial responses.

“Well, that’s dumb.” Mary snorted back, closing her point.

“I suppose it is.” A beat passed between them, and Gaignun stared blankly at the dead arm hanging loosely at his side. It was obvious. The cane didn’t help either, and the eye-patch was too obvious to even mention. It changed the way people acted—he wanted to be a caretaker, yet so many insisted on taking that role themselves. All because of a few little injuries. “Mary…” he began cautiously. “Do you find me fragile? It’s not uncommon for people to react to my condition with distress, and I… well, what do you think?”

Mary probably didn’t need to reply to him—her crossed arms and pointed glare said enough: “No!” Gaignun flinched. Mary shrunk back. “…I mean, I know you, so maybe I’m biased, but…” She paused, and Gaignun held his breath, waiting on edge for the explanation. “When we first met, Shelley and I were hardly in a state of good health, so we really had no ground work off of, but—I was… surprised… to see your arm and leg and stuff, but by no means did I think you fragile. I was just a bit confused.”

“Do you think that had something to do with your condition at the time?”

“Hmmm. No? Maybe? Master Gaignun, people talk a lot of crap, but I think anyone who spends more than five minutes around you would know for certain that you ain’t weak at all.”

“Oh.” Gaignun’s lips twitched into a slight smile. It was a shame that he still worried about these things. He wished he didn’t have to—that he could be left alone, and didn’t have to constantly strive to demonstrate his worth. He wished he didn’t have to ask such guilt-laden questions as the ones he pressured poor Mary with now.  He simply seemed left with little other choice in the current state of public opinion. “Thank you, Mary, I…” He shook his head dismissively. “… thanks.”

“Y’know, you’re one fine piece of meat too.” She teased, poking a finger at his arm. “If you weren’t gay, Shelley and I would be all over this—“ She swept her finger up and down. “Oh pfff! Who am I kidding? All the girls would be!” She winked playfully before cracking up at her own display of mischief, leaving a concerned Gaignun blinking in the wake of her faux cruelty.

“Are you saying the men aren’t…?!” A touch of horror crept into his voice—she wasn’t being serious, was she? Perhaps he didn’t seem frail, but that said nothing for his attractiveness in the eyes of his fellows.

She giggled and nudged her head against his shoulder. He sighed, and shoved her gently back.

Well, if people like Mary—and her sister— existed, perhaps there was hope for more—hope for proper change.


End file.
